The Giant in the Basement
by anya monet
Summary: The skeleton of an impossibly tall teenager is found after a financially struggling factory burns to the ground. Meanwhile, Booth and Brennan clash over the issue of control in their working relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Please insert something witty here about me not owning "Bones".

_The Giant in the Basement_

_Chapter 1_

Dr. Brennan pulls on the handle of the passenger door of the black SUV unsuccessfully. She tries again, yanking harder.

"Booth..." she says in a long drawn-out tone, dangerously close to a whine. She taps on the window impatiently.

Her partner is sitting inside, behind the wheel, and is busy fiddling with the radio. It takes a minute of impatient pounding before he finally notices Brennan's plight and presses the automatic unlock button.

"You did that on purpose," Brennan complains as she pulls the door shut behind her and drops her well-worn shoulder bag in the back seat.

Booth grins at her innocently. "Why would I do that?" He puts the car in drive and carefully pulls out of the crowded museum parking lot.

She rolls her eyes and turns her head to look out the window. "Why is the FBI handling this investigation anyway?"

"Well-"

" I mean, this doesn't exactly sound like terrorism, espionage, or public corruption." She interrupts herself with a sarcastic snort of laughter. "There's no evidence of mob or gang related activity. No fraud, no jewel or art theft. It's not an Indian reservation or a national park..." She looks away from the passing scenery and catches a glimpse of Booth's surprised expression. "What?"

"Where did that come from?" he asks with raised eyebrows.

"I looked it up. Watch the road, please."

"You looked it up."

"Yes."

"You looked up the categories of federal law that fall under FBI jurisdiction."

Brennan's hand gestures frantically demand Booth's attention be returned to the traffic. "Yes," she says, when he has complied. "FBI . org. Very useful website."

"Why?"

"It has a lot of interesting information..."

"No, why did you look up FBI jurisdiction?"

"I thought I should know more about the FBI as an organization."

"Why? You have me."

Brennan leans her head back against her seat. "Well, I was tired of asking you questions every five minutes."

Booth casts her a quick, side long glance and then shakes his head with a smirk. "Oh, no. That's not it." A traffic light turns red and he's able to turn and look at his partner. "You're tired of me knowing more about something than you."

Brennan sits up straight and stares at him. "That's totally-"

He cuts her off and wiggles his finger in her face. "Admit it. You can't stand the fact that I'm an expert on something that you know very little about."

"Expert?" Brennan grabs his finger and forcefully transfers it to the steering wheel as the light changes. "I wouldn't say you're an expert."

Booth's jaw drops dramatically. "Excuse me? Do you have any idea what it takes-" he pounds the armrest with his right fist, "-to become a special agent in the FBI?"

Brennan closes her eyes and slouches in her seat again. "A four-year degree at an accredited university, US citizenship, three years work experience, a valid driver's license, and approximately 21 weeks of training at the FBI academy in Quantico, Virginia."

There's a brief silence. Booth watches her through narrowed eyes. "You looked that up too."

She smiles satisfactorily. "FBI jobs . org."

Booth lets out a long breath and rubs his eyes with his hand. "Look, from now on how about I just handle the administrative and-" he pauses and gives her a significant look, "-dangerous cop stuff and you handle the decomposing and rotting, you know, fun stuff."

Brennan's lips purse up as she glares at him. "That doesn't make sense."

"Why?" he asks, exasperated. "Why does that not make sense?"

"We work together. Exclusively and almost every day. It's not practical for our areas of expertise to remain completely separate. We should learn from each other, share our knowledge."

Booth laughs, quickly and sharply. "If you expect me to study the skeletal system in my spare time-"

Brennan tilts her head, surprised at his dismissive reaction. "What's wrong with that? I know a good website."

"No. Just no." Booth's knuckles turn pale as he grips the steering wheel. "All right, Bones?"

Brennan shrugs. She relaxes again in her seat. "I can't believe you're mad at me for wanting to make our partnership more efficient."

"I'm not mad."

"You sound mad. Testy even."

"I'm not testy." Booth struggles to bring the volume of his voice back down to normal. "Can we please just talk about something else?"

Another silence falls. Brennan glances out the window again, searching for a less incendiary topic. She smiles at last. "Did you know when the FBI was established before World War I, it was just called the Bureau of Investigation or the BOI for short. I bet the female agents today would hate that." Another red light strikes and Booth turns to stare at her with blank eyes. "You know, because people would say 'Oh, here come the BOI's,'." She chuckles but Booth's head drops onto the steering wheel with a "thunk". Concerned, she hastens to clarify, "Like 'boys' but it's an acronym. Get it?"

Booth presses his face harder against the leather. "Consider your computer confiscated."

**A/N:** This is the first chapter of the first story in the series I'm attempting to write of realistic casefics with a strong BB undercurrent. I'm trying to focus on genuine sounding dialogue and the interesting incorporation of science. I find fanfiction incredibly difficult to write and I really admire all those who manage it so superbly. Anyway, I seriously appreciate anyone taking the time to read this and would obviously love to get some feedback. Thanks! Anya


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still own nothing. Seriously. Even my clothes are on loan.

* * *

_The Giant in the Basement_

_Chapter 2_

"So apparently the building's fire alarms are as antiquated as its architecture and the whole place just went up like a matchbook. Luckily, it's the weekend so most of the employees weren't there except for some poor soul in the basement." Booth slams the door shut as he talks, tucking his sunglasses into the pocket of his suit jacket. He leans against his car, parked illegally on the wrong side of the street, and looks across at the blackened, crumbling factory and the crowd of eager onlookers and fire fighters.

Brennan closes her door firmly and slings the strap of bag over her head and across her chest. With a dirty look over her shoulder at Booth, she begins walking purposely towards the ruins.

"What's that for?" he asks, running to catch up.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says with mock seriousness. "Am I allowed to talk now?"

"Yeah," Booth says with a dramatic sigh. He sticks his thumbs through his belt loops and pushes ahead of her, taking long, exaggerated strides. "That rule's just going to be for the car. When I'm driving."

Brennan stops dead in the street, forcing him to turn around. She strikes a confrontational pose, her hands on her hips and her face scrunched up. "You always drive." Booth laughs but she silences him with a glare. "You always get to drive and you get to have a gun and now you get to make 'no talking' rules. This isn't fair."

Booth takes a step closer and imitates her stance. "It's no less fair than you with your FBI research and your books on body language. You don't get to control everything either, buddy."

Brennan opens her mouth to make an angry response but a voice from behind interrupts her, "Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth. If you'll just come with me, I can show you to the remains."

They both turn to see a young DC cop, beckoning them from beyond the barricades holding back the curious bystanders.

Brennan quickly glances back at Booth, leaving him with a deathly stare, before following. "Where'd the fire start?" she asks, ducking under the yellow tape stretched across the remnants of a doorway.

"Right where we're headed," the officer replies, leading them through a large room showing evidence of a past as a lobby. Only walls remain and even those are scorched and shaky. He abruptly stops and points downwards at a gaping hole in the ruined carpet. "The basement."

Brennan crouches down to peer through. A silver ladder has been set up, the first rung just visible. She leans over the rim, studying what's left of the staircase. Booth impulsively grabs the back of her jumpsuit. When she looks up at him with an expression mixed with confusion and annoyance, he shrugs and says, "This whole place looks like it's going to fall down any second. Just be careful."

The officer looks alarmed and moves forward to insist, "The building has been checked out. It's structurally secure." Booth shrugs again and doesn't let go until Brennan stands up, brushing her knees.

"Can we go down there?" she asks, moving towards the ladder.

"Yeah, of course. I'll go first." The young man, then Brennan, and finally Booth each disappear beyond the surface of the floor.

Stepping off the ladder onto the soot coated concrete floor of the basement, Brennan struggles in vain to look around. Without electricity, the debris from the fire makes it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. Their guide switches on a flashlight and indicates with a gesture, "It's right over there." He takes the lead, Booth and Brennan trailing behind.

"And it was definitely arson?" Booth asks, taking hesitant steps and picking his way over scattered, charred cinderblocks.

"Yeah, the fire chief has the report for you," the officer says. "Here we go."

A small group of fire fighters and police officers, carrying flashlights and wearing hard hats, appear out of the gloom. They all step wordlessly aside as Brennan spots the skeleton, black as the omnipresent ash. She kneels down to inspect it carefully, appreciating the glowing lantern provided thoughtfully by one of the rescue workers.

Booth leans over her shoulder and gives the bones a long glance. "I know I'm not an expert," he says with a smirk. "But isn't there something missing?"

Brennan twists her neck awkwardly to smile up at him and pats his knee in encouragement. "See? You have learned something from me." She looks back at the officer who led them there. "Where are the legs?"

A nearby fire fighter speaks up instead, "We found it like this. We thought maybe they just burned up..."

Brennan manages to keep a look of disdain off her face. "Unlikely." She can't hold back an impatient sigh. "I understand the circumstances are difficult but the rest of these remains have to be around here somewhere. When you find them, send them to the Jeffersonian." She ignores Booth's poke and stifled cough aimed at her authoritative tone and stands up, walking around the skeleton, speaking out loud as she paces, "The victim is male. Age is likely around-" she stops and bends down again. "Age is likely between fourteen and seventeen years."

Booth raises his eyebrows. "Why would a teenager be hanging out in the basement of a functioning factory on a Saturday morning?"

Brennan glances at him. "To start a fire?"

"Hmm," he responds vaguely.

Brennan crouches down again. "Look at the sternum," she says fingering the delicate bones. "There's evidence of pectus carinatum." She looks up and interprets Booth's frustrated expression correctly. "Abnormal protrusion of the breastbone. It could be a birth defect or a symptom of scoliosis."

"Is it rare?" Booth asks, pretending to study the indicated bone.

"Not really." She straightens up and removes her gloves. Turning towards the gathered fire fighters, she says, "My team should be here soon to remove the remains and transport them back to our lab. If you could at least look for our victim's legs before then, that'd be helpful."

"Bones-" Booth hisses.

Brennan glares at him briefly before rolling her eyes and offers a sullen "Thank you," to the workers. "Happy now?" she asks her partner as they inch back towards the collapsed staircase.

"Yes-" Booth begins before grabbing her arm quickly as she stumbles over a fallen beam. She spins around, unbalanced, but manages to catch herself just before tumbling into Booth's chest. They pause a moment, their faces inches apart, the movements and the flashlights of the workers behind them lost in the heavy darkness. Brennan manages to turn away first, muttering a quick apology. Booth stands still a moment, watching her retreating back in the dim light and directs his comment to the low, burnt ceiling, "Why wouldn't I be happy working with you, Bones?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, right. I wish. Have you seen my shoes? Believe me, they'd be nicer if I owned Bones.

**A/N:** Okay, this is the necessary chapter with all the science and useful facts about maggots and beetles. I know it's not as satisfying as some good banter or even some action/adventure but like I said, it's kind of necessary. I hope it holds your interest!

* * *

_The Giant in the Basement_

_Chapter 3_

"So!" Booth exclaims as he takes the steps up to the lab in a long leap. "Any new information on the identity of our arsonist?"

He crosses over to the examination table and pokes at one of the newly cleaned bones Brennan is studying. She slaps his hand away without looking up and answers, "Not yet. Zack's piecing together the skull right now." Remaining bent over at the waist and without taking her eyes off the skeleton, she awkwardly moves to opposite end of the table, forcing Booth to step back quickly out of her way. Her voice sounds frustrated and confused as she wonders, "Why can't I just figure out this height?'

"Are you actually asking me that or-" Booth's voice trails off when he notices his partner's utter inattention. "Okay, then. I got the fire chief's report if you want to read it."

Brennan stands up straight but waves her hand in the direction of the folder Booth is clasping. "Yeah, just a second. Zack, come here," she calls, glancing behind her.

Zack stands up and walks over from his work station. "Sorry, Dr. Brennan, but I'm not done with the skull yet..."

"It's not that." She pulls his sleeve, dragging him back to her original spot near the victim's shoulder. Booth hastily backs up again, upsetting a wheeled cart and its tray of silver, spindly instruments. As he kneels down to gather them up, Brennan points at a specific bone and says, "Look at the humerus."

Zack complies, imitating Brennan's hunched stature. As he straightens up again, his expression is pensive and he offers an inconclusive, "Huh."

"Huh?" Booth asks, from his position on the floor. "What does 'huh' mean?"

Zack looks at Brennan. "It's long."

"Very long," she says. She walks around the table again, tripping predictably over Booth and the scattered objects. She gives him a bemused look and continues, "Almost 50 centimeters."

Booth stands up. "And...?" he asks as the two scientists look at each other and then back down at the skeleton.

"And that would make our 16-year-old victim around 214 centimeters tall," Brennan says hesitantly.

Zack notices Booth's annoyed face and clarifies, "7 foot 2 inches." Brennan nods.

"Wow." Booth takes a step closer and gives the bones a long look.

"Yeah, except..." Brennan rubs her forehead. "There's obviously no formula for height based on the measurements of a person's torso."

"Obviously," Booth interjects, sarcastically.

She doesn't acknowledge the interruption. "Even so, looking at this one here, I would assume the victim to be no more than 6 foot 8. Maybe 6 foot 9."

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Brennan looks directly at Booth for the first time during the conversation. "It means I need the victim's tibias. And his femurs." When he doesn't immediately respond, she continues impatiently. "His legs, Booth."

"I actually knew that one." Booth sits down heavily on a nearby stool. "They're looking." Brennan doesn't appear remotely pacified. "They really are, Bones, but you saw the place. It's a mess."

"Yeah..." she agrees, half-heartedly. She leans over the table again, carefully shifting various bones aside as she peers at the victim's spine. "Wait..." she murmers. She adjusts the light, aiming it at a particular section, and her face is drawn even closer to the remains. "Wait a second, wait...wait!" Her last command is nearly shouted.

"I'm not really going anywhere," Booth replies, jokingly.

"Right there!" She points dramatically at the skeleton. Zack's head snaps up and he abandons the broken and charred skull again to hurry over. "See it?" Brennan asks, excitedly, as he inspects the indicated spot.

"No..." he says, bewildered.

Brennan taps a certain bone with her glove-covered finger. "There. Slipped vertebrae. Spondylolisthesis."

"Ah..." A look of dawning comprehension crosses Zack's face.

Brennan's expression is triumphant as she beckons Booth over. "Remember the pectus carinatum?" she asks.

Booth squeezes in between Zack and Brennan at the victim's side and responds, "Something with the breastbone." He visibly searches his memory. "You said it could be a symptom of scoliosis."

"Exactly," Brennan says, with obvious delight.

"So what? Lots of teenagers have scoliosis."

"Yeah, but put it together with the spondyloisthesis..." she points again at the spine, "...the disproportionally long humerus..." Booth glances at the lengthy arm bones. "...and you get...?"

"Marfan syndrome," Zack answers. "A genetic condition affecting the body's connective tissues." His voice slips into a monotone as he recites the definition.

"Go check the medical records of Angela's list of missing persons, would you Zack?" He nods, and quickly leaves the lab. Brennan smiles at Booth. "This should make him a lot easier to identify."

Booth smiles back, impressed. For a moment, the tension from the factory returns as neither moves from their positions, pressed close together over the burnt, legless corpse.

"I found something." Hodgins jumps up the stairs, obliviously disrupting the awkward moment.

Brennan steps away from the table and Booth with perceptible haste. "Is it as good as identifying the victim's genetic disorder?" she asks, avoiding her partner's eye contact.

"Better," Hodgins replies automatically. His gaze darts back between the two embarrassed faces suspiciously before he registers Brennan's comment. "Wait, genetic disorder?"

"Marfan syndrome," Booth speaks up with confidence.

"Oh...that explains the freakish length of the radius and humerus. Nice..."

"Yes. So what'd you find?" Brennan asks, as Zack returns, followed closely by Angela.

Booth moves over to Angela, attempting to peek at the sheaf of papers she's carrying. She shields the top sheet effectively, shakes her head at Booth, and sits down in front of one of the computers.

"You know the burnt fibers left over from the victim's clothes I was examing?" Brennan and Zack nod, Booth looks slightly lost but Hodgins continues, "Well, I was able to discern maggot excrement attached to them." he pauses for effect. "At first, I thought I was seeing things but then I found this..." He wields a tiny, glass jar containing a fair amount of ash as well as either the front or back half of a very dead, dried out beetle. Brennan's eyebrows raise as she examines it and she looks at up at Hodgins in surprise. "I know!" he says with enthusiasm. "Obviously, I was thrilled..." Booth snorts, but no one acknowledges it. "...but I had to be sure. So I prepared a solvent of ten percent ammonium hydroxide and..."

Hodgins continues explaining his discovery to the attentive Brennan and Zack but Booth leans over to Angela, still inputing values into the computer, and quietly inquires, "Does he talk like that when you're..." he smiles widely, tilting his head and making a suggestive hand motion. "...you know..."

Angela's gaze switches sharply from the computer screen to Booth's face. She slaps his arm. "No!" she whispers harshly. Booth just grins and rubs his arm, refusing to turn away. Angela sighs and lowers her voice even further, looking cautiously behind her at the still-speaking Hodgins. "Not anymore," she admits.

Booth's laugh is loud and poorly disguised as a cough as he catches Brennan's dispproving eye. "Are you even listening to Hodgins?" she asks, her tone slightly dangerous.

Booth glances at Angela, who is leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed and a smug, expectant expression on her face. He rolls his eyes. "Of course not." he responds, petulantly. "When will you people learn that I only need to know the all-important conclusion, not the incredibly complicated procedure by which you arrived at it?"

Angela stands up, pats his shoulder and, as she moves over to Hodgins, tells Booth with a hint of laughter in her voice, "You know, sometimes that incredibly complicated process is actually more fun than the...grand finale, Booth."

Hodgins speaks up quickly before Brennan has a chance to fully process Angela's innuendo, "My conclusion is that the victim was not killed in the fire. Or even this morning."

Booth stares at him. "Then when was he killed?"

"Three to four months ago."

"What? Months?" Angela asks, surprised.

"Yeah, maggots had already infested the victim's body and had left as the flesh became too dry for them to consume. This guy..." He holds up the glass jar again and shakes it. "...a hide beetle... and his friends have mouths better suited for-"

"Okay, we get it." Booth tries rapidly to process the new information. "So someone murders this kid three months ago and hides his body in the basement of a factory...?"

"Or," Brennan picks up keenly. "Or did they hide the body somewhere else and then move it today-"

"-before setting it on fire. In the process, burning down an entire building." Booth's eyes crinkle up as he speculates.

Brennan shakes her head. "That's irrational. Why wouldn't the murderer have burned the body months ago if that was his intent? Why do it now and in a factory basement?"

Booth looks around at the confused faces of the gathered scientists and claps his hands together once. "That's what we have to find out."

* * *

**A/N Part Deux:** (If you're still awake) The math and symptoms of Marfan syndrome in here should all be correct. I should probably cite DeathOnline (cheery site, let me tell ya) for the info on hide beetles. Everything else came from my anth textbooks, very useful to have around when writing Bones fiction. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not, in fact, own the rights to the "Bones" television series. Consider yourself disclaimed.

**A/N:** I know this is really short. It's actually the first half of a chapter I decided to split up because of a natural break. I'm not completely done with the second part but I will be soon (maybe even by tonight) (maybe)! Oh and thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to read and, especially, review! I'd say something like you have no idea how happy that makes me except practically everyone on here is a writer so I'm guessing you probably do (have some idea). Anyway, thanks, thanks, and thanks!

* * *

_The Giant in the Basement_

_Chapter 4_

"-and so, get this, he traps a pigeon in a trashcan, somehow manages to bring it inside the Hoover building without being seen, and lets it loose in Clarkson's office." Booth's loud laughter attracts the attention of several nearby scientists.

Brennan just gives him a blank look. "Don't you have work to do?" she asks, picking up the victim's skull, still blackened and fragile but pieced together, and comparing it to the charcoal drawing.

Booth glares at her, unhappy with her lack of reaction, and replies sharply, "Not until you ID this guy."

"What about..." Brennan begins but trails off as she brings the skull even closer to her face, examining one of the eye sockets. She glances again at the sketch and nods in approval before handing it back to Angela. As she sets the skull back down on the table, she catches Booth's eye and completes her question as if no time has passed. "...the workers and the factory owner? Shouldn't you be off somewhere intimidating them?"

"The DC cops and fire fighters are still taking accounts of the fire. As far as anyone knows, this is a simple case of arson, nothing more. We're going to keep that going." Booth frowns at Brennan who is bent over the skeleton again, examining the ribcage. "Bones, I am relating a work place anecdote to you. You should be listening and amused."

"I am listening," Brennan says, still gazing at the bones. "Don't touch that."

Booth's hand snaps back before he can pick up the glass beaker. "I'm not going to break it!"

Brennan wordlessly indicates the tray of metal instruments he had collapsed earlier. Angela snorts indelicately from her perch in front of one of the computers.

"Fine," Booth huffs before grabbing a graduated cylinder. He waves it in front of the scientist. "Is plastic safe from my destructive ways?"

"You'd think."

Booth ignores this comment and twirls the tube around in his hands as he talks. "Anyway, Clarkson had to reprint half of his case notes because of Knapp's bird and its..." He pauses to think. "...excrement," he concludes, tactfully. "And last night, he came to me in my office and asked, in all seriousness, if I'd like to form an alliance against Knapp."

"Like on Survivor," Brennan remarks absently still inspecting the ribs.

Booth's grasp on the cylinder immediately fails. "What?" he exclaims as it bounces off the floor with a "ping".

Brennan looks up from the examination table with a surprised expression. "You know. Survivor." Booth doesn't say anything but continues to stare at her with complete shock written across his face. Uneasy, she adds, "The television program?"

"How could you possibly know about Survivor?"

She rolls her eyes and concentrates again on her work. "It's not like I've never turned on a TV ever before, Booth."

"And when you did, you watched Survivor?" Booth asks in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes," she replies quickly, annoyed.

Booth regards his partner for a minute with obvious suspicion. When she doesn't elaborate, he clarifies, "The reality show."

"As an anthropological case study, I find it fascinating." Brennan glances up again at Booth who starts to laugh. Her voice sounds slightly hurt as she asks, "What?"

"It's just..." he manages, still laughing. "I know I'm going to regret asking this but how is Survivor an anthropological case study?"

It takes a minute for Brennan to realize his question is in earnest. "By its very concept!" Booth gapes at her and then turns to Angela who is watching the exchange with a small grin. She shrugs at him before reapplying herself to the keyboard. Brennan continues her explanation with a slightly smug and matter-of-fact attitude. "The idea of putting a group of strangers together, forcing them to adapt to a hostile environment, and then observing their attempts to create a functioning society? It's an experiment in socio-cultural anthropology."

Booth shakes his head. "It's a TV show, Bones. Entertainment."

Brennan tilts her head, considering. "Maybe for the masses," she concedes as she bends back over the remains.

Booth narrows his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Without looking up, she replies, "I'm just saying what you get from it, well, it depends on what you come in with."

"Wait." The hostility in his voice brings Brennan's full attention back around to Booth. "Are you saying that I'm not intelligent enough to understand the meaning behind a reality show?" he accuses belligerently but with a barely discernable hint of playfulness.

Brennan looks torn as she opens her mouth to respond but Angela conveniently interrupts. "Jason Marlow," she says, pointing at the monitor. A photograph appears and text from a missing person file appears.

Brennan allows herself a tiny sigh of relief as Booth's attention is diverted.

"Jason Marlow was a high school student in Alexandria reported missing 13 weeks ago. He never came home from work." Angela summarizes. Booth and Brennan both join her at the computer, leaning over together to peer at the screen. "It says here his father and sister have also been diagnosed with Marfan syndrome."

Brennan nods. "It's hereditary. Any connection to the factory?"

Angela scrolls down. "Nothing obvious." She writes down the listed home address and hands it to Booth.

He straightens up. "Well, now at least we have somewhere to be. Let's go, Bones," he says before grabbing Brennan's arm.

She shrugs him off. "Angela, can you tell Zack to keep working on cause of death and make sure-" She slaps away Booth's impatient hand again. "Make sure he calls me as soon as he knows something, okay?" Angela's indication of compliance goes unseen as Booth forcefully pushes his partner away. At the bottom of the stairs, however, Brennan spins around and calls back. "Oh and Cam should be here within the hour. Someone needs to fill her in."

Angela waves at their rapidly retreating backs and manages to wait until they're out of earshot before laughing.

* * *

**A/N der zweite: **My freshman cultural anthropology professor was completely obsessed with Survivor. She also had absolutely no knowledge of current pop culture because she had spent the two years previous somewhere in Africa and she talked a lot about how she never watched TV, even after she got back, and yet she loved a reality show. I never actually asked her why but my guess is probably pretty close. 


End file.
